That Friend Thing
by Jacob Marley
Summary: Certain friendships aren't meant to stay friendships, no matter how hard those friends may try to fight it. Harry and Hermione suddenly find themselves in way over their heads as they try to understand their new feelings for each other.
1. That Night at the Wedding

A/N: I've returned, again! I'm sorry I didn't go any further with "The Goodbye Girl," but I was having a bit of a block on it. I might go back to it. But for now, here's the beginning of a new story. Hopefully I won't give up on this one … read and review!

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the characters and most of the words/phrases that get spell-checked (i.e. Muggle, Diagon Alley, Weasley). This story is written as if the epilogue and certain other elements found in _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ never happened. The plot is my own.

Hermione:

Certain friendships aren't meant to _stay_ friendships.

Sure, you can sometimes ignore whatever it is that's changed, and you can go on as friends with this unspoken … _thing_ between you. It's possible. I know people who have done it. And for a while, we tried. We really did. There were so many levels of awkwardness that I think both of us really hoped it would just die out. That it—whatever it was—would just fade away.

But it didn't.

I can tell you exactly when it started. I know because it came out of the blue. It didn't build from anything; it wasn't a gradual process. One day, he was just a friend. And the next day, I was hooked; I couldn't stop thinking about him.

And the day when everything changed was Ginny's wedding day.

*

'I can't believe they're getting married,' Ron muttered for the hundredth time that morning; Harry had lost track of how many times he had said overall. Granted, there hadn't been _that_ much time: Dean had proposed to Ginny less than two months ago, and here they were, wearing Muggle suits (Dean's family had insisted on a Muggle wedding, much to Mrs Weasley's chagrin and Mr Weasley's endless delight) and standing in the Weasley kitchen the morning of the wedding.

Harry grinned. 'I can.'

'_How_?' Ron asked incredulously. 'It doesn't make you feel _slightly_ uncomfortable that she went back to him after you two split, and now they're getting _married_?'

Harry shrugged. True, it had the potential to be extremely awkward. But Harry and Ginny had parted amicably, and he could tell that Dean really loved her, and that she loved him. 'Not really.'

Ron scoffed. 'Well, _I _think it's strange.'

'Ron, she and I broke up over four years ago, and she and Dean have been together for almost two and a half. That's enough time.' He looked at his watch. 'We should go soon,' he said. 'We don't want to be late. Aren't we supposed to _be_ with Dean right now? Supporting him and everything? I'm sure Seamus has no idea what to say.'

'If Fleur didn't take so bloody long, this wouldn't be an issue,' mumbled Ron.

Just then, Fleur breezed in to the kitchen in a forest green, floor-length gown, half-dragging a laughing Bill into the room. '_I _didn't take long,' she said crisply. 'Your brother, he hogged ze mirror.'

'Let's just go,' said Ron, frowning. Harry couldn't help but smile at how moody Ron was about this whole thing.

Bill seemed to be thinking the same thing. 'You'll get married soon enough, little brother,' he teased.

'Like I _want_ to be married,' Ron huffed.

*

'What if this doesn't work out?' Dean asked nervously, pacing back and forth in the small room.

Seamus and Ron didn't say anything, so Harry cleared his throat. 'It's going to work,' he said awkwardly. 'You'll be very happy together.' Seamus and Ron nodded. 'And … and the wedding's going to be wonderful, and you'll … you'll be very happy together,' he repeated.

Dean rubbed his face and sat down. 'How can you be sure?' he asked weakly.

_I'm not_, Harry thought. 'Because—because I've seen how you are together,' he said. _Oh, God._

'Yeah,' said Seamus helpfully. He opened his mouth to say something more, but closed it again quickly, clearly rethinking whether his two cents was actually worth anything at all.

'I need—I need something to drink,' Dean said, putting his face in his hands. 'Water, or something alcoholic. One of the two.'

Harry stood up. 'I'll get you water,' he said and hurried out of the room. Once in the hallway, he leaned against the wall and breathed heavily. This _was_ harder than he thought it would be. It was strange, comforting the boy with whom he had shared Ginny on the day of his marriage to that girl. The same girl he had seriously considered spending the rest of _his_ life with. And here he was, reassuring Dean, telling him that they were absolutely perfect together. Hadn't that been how everyone had described _him_ and Ginny?

Not that he wanted to be with Ginny. He was relieved to find that he really and truly was over her, and that he didn't regret the end of their relationship. But all the same, it was incredibly … surreal to be in this situation. And to—

'Harry! Are you all right?'

Harry opened his eyes and blinked.

And blinked.

And blinked.

Hermione pressed a hand to his arm. 'Are you feeling ill?'

Harry rubbed his eyes and looked again. 'No, no,' he said slowly. 'I just—' He swallowed.

When the hell did Hermione start looking like _that_?

She was wearing a dress that matched Fleur's, and gold jewellery, with her hair piled on top of her head and strands falling down, and she was holding a bouquet of lilies.

'Harry?' she repeated.

He blinked again. 'I'm fine,' he said. 'I just—I need to get Dean water, and I'm not sure where to go.' He laughed. 'And I have no idea how to comfort him,' he added. 'None of us know what to say. Ron and Seamus were just sitting there like fools.'

'Oh,' she said, relieved. 'I just need to get these to Ginny.' She held up the bouquet. 'Beautiful, isn't it?'

He nodded and repeated the word, 'Beautiful.'

Inside, he thought, _Oh wow_.

*

The ceremony was taking longer than Hermione had anticipated. She tried not to yawn. It was beautiful, really. All of it was lovely. And Ginny looked amazing. It was just—taking too long.

Luna shifted next to her. 'Are they _sure_ about those lanterns?' she whispered into Hermione's ear.

'Sure about what?'

'That they're not _bugged_.'

'Why would they be bugged?'

Luna shrugged. 'I don't know. I just heard that people had taken to hiding those microphones or recording devices in people's lights.'

'Yes, but that's when they want to spy on someone. No one would be spying on a wedding. There's nothing controversial surrounding this at all.'

Luna frowned. 'Not that we know of.'

Hermione smiled and glanced over to the boys. Ron looked like he was going to fall asleep. And Harry—he had looked down just as she turned her head. What had he been looking at? Her brow furrowed. The green ties that all the boys were wearing matched his eyes well. And his hair, as unruly as it was, looked—well, it looked good. _He _looked good. And she—why had she never looked at him like this before?

He raised his eyes and caught her looking at him. It was too late for her to pretend she hadn't been studying him, so she smiled. After a moment's pause, he returned her smile, but he looked confused. Why? She looked back at Ginny and Dean. They were kissing. _I missed it_, she thought. Because—because she had been staring at Harry Potter. How did _that_ make any sense? And now Ginny and Dean were running down the aisle, and Seamus was waiting expectantly for Hermione to take his arm. She did quickly, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder at Harry.

But she wanted to, badly.

*

He was worried it was getting noticeable: he was _staring_ at her. He just couldn't stop looking at her. Talking with Mrs Weasley. Laughing with the newlyweds. Brushing crumbs off of Ron's robes. This interaction made Harry feel anxious; he wanted to break it up, stop them from flirting. But Hermione had walked away moments later, and Ron was now chatting up Dean's younger Muggle sister.

And Hermione was dancing goofily with Ron's grandfather, shaking her hips and smiling encouragingly as he banged his cane around.

Harry finished his drink and walked over slowly.

She noticed his movement towards her, and hated herself for being so aware of everything he had done the whole night. She was aware of him and she was entirely confused as to why.

And it seemed to take him _ages_ to reach them.

'Do you mind if I steal your dance partner, Mr Weasley?' Harry asked.

A slower song began. _That _actually_ happens? _Harry thought in amazement, as couples trickled onto the small dance floor.

'Certainly!' He chuckled. 'She's a wonderful girl, and a talented dancer. You're a lucky man, Mr Potter.'

Harry and Hermione blushed. 'Oh, no,' they both started to say, but the elderly man hobbled away quickly. Hermione looked down at her hands awkwardly. Harry rubbed his neck. Now that he was over here, he felt like a complete idiot.

'Sorry for breaking that up,' he finally said, in what was (he hoped) a teasing voice. 'I just thought you might want, you know, at least one dance with someone from your generation.'

Hermione laughed. 'Yes, of course.' Slowly, carefully, she placed her hand on Harry's shoulder. He put his hand on her waist and took her free hand.

They didn't say anything the entire time, both wondering _why_ the other was so quiet. _Why did he ask me to dance if he wasn't planning on saying anything?_ Hermione wondered anxiously.

_Why can't I think of anything to say?_ Harry thought desperately.

They danced for five songs in near silence, and then separated; Seamus asked Hermione to dance, and Harry moved to the bar. After getting a drink, he walked out of the tent and sat down on a bench near the fountain.

'Harry?'

He looked up. Ginny was walking towards him. Harry stood. 'Ginny!' He smiled. 'Congratulations.' He hugged her, somewhat awkwardly.

'Thanks,' she said, smiling hugely. 'I'm -' She broke off. 'I'm really glad you came,' she finally said. 'I know it's a bit—you know. Complicated. But it means a lot that you're here.'

'Of course,' said Harry. 'I wouldn't have missed it.' He paused. 'I'm happy for you, Ginny,' he said gently. 'Really, I am. '

She hugged her arms and looked down at the ground. 'Thanks,' she said softly. 'I promise I'll come to your wedding. Even if it's in twenty years,' she teased.

'You had better.'

She peered up at him. 'I'm going to go back in. Do you want to come?'

He shook his head. 'It's a bit warm in there. I need a few more minutes.'

'Okay.' She hesitated, and then hugged him tightly. 'Is it awkward to say you're still like a big brother, even after all that's happened?'

'That might have been part of the reason we split, Ginny,' he said teasingly.

She laughed as she pulled away. 'True.' She touched his cheek. 'I'll see you later.' He nodded and she walked away.

Harry exhaled loudly and sat down on the bench again, staring blankly at the fountain.

He was relieved to discover that the conversation with Ginny had proven what he had already been fairly certain about: his romantic feelings for her had dissipated entirely.

But now—now he couldn't stop thinking about Hermione. Even when he was talking to Ginny, he was wondering what Hermione was doing. Who she was dancing with.

It made no sense, this bizarre obsession. It was just so sudden. Just two days ago, they had gone to pick up a few things at Diagon Alley for the wedding, and they had stopped at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. They had laughed about Hermione's horrible date the night before with a friend of a friend, and Harry had related his last extremely dull conversation with a girl Mrs Weasley had wanted him to date from the office. They had talked about Hagrid and Madam Maxime—or Olympe, which was what they were actually supposed to call her now that they were married, but were too scared to do—and speculated about what their child would look like.

Perfectly normal.

So why this?

'Hey,' said a voice behind him. Harry looked up. Hermione was standing next to the bench, a shawl wrapped around her. 'Mind if I sit?'

'No, no,' he said quickly, shuffling a little. She sat, and they both studied the fountain, waiting for the other to speak first. And then they both started at the same time.

'Is there -'

'I was -'

They laughed. 'Go ahead,' Harry said.

'I was wondering what you thought about the Muggle wedding,' Hermione asked. 'This is your first, right?'

Harry shrugged. 'They're not _that_ different. I prefer the alcohol at Wizard weddings, though,' he added with a grin. Hermione rolled her eyes. 'What about you? Which do you prefer?'

Hermione sighed. 'When I was really little, I was the flower girl for my cousin's wedding. And I remember being so excited for it to be _my_ turn to be the last one walking down the aisle. Everything seemed so magical about the whole thing.' She smiled. 'And then I became a witch, and somehow—obviously, I guess—it seemed a lot less magical.' Her brow furrowed, and she shrugged. 'It makes me a little sad, I suppose. I think my parents would love for me to have a Muggle wedding, too. But—but I think it wouldn't be as special for _me_.' She stopped. 'Sorry. That might have been a bit more in-depth than you had expected.'

Harry shook his head. 'It's fine.'

'What were you going to ask me?'

'That, actually.'

'Really?'

No. But he had lost his nerve to just blurt out, _Is there something going on here, or have I gone totally and completely mad?_

'Yeah. I was going to ask if there was anything about a Muggle wedding that you preferred to a Wizard one.'

'It's nice when the flowers don't move,' she said.

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes.

'It's really beautiful tonight,' said Hermione finally, looking up at the sky.

Harry studied her profile. There were so many things he hadn't noticed, things even now he could hardly see in the fading light, but wanted to desperately. The freckles on her cheek, the curve of her nose, the slight upward turn at the corner of her mouth.

She was extremely aware of how close they were on the bench, and how a week ago she would never have noticed it. She turned to look at him and … and. He was staring at her, his face inches away. And he was moving closer, and so was she. She touched her fingers to his cheek.

And then they were kissing, slowly, shyly, delicately. It was unfamiliar, but it was wonderful.

And then they both realised what they were doing and jumped up.

'That was -' Harry began, and then stopped.

'I'm sorry,' said Hermione. She looked down at her hands. 'I don't know what came over me.'

Harry looked down at the ground. He was thoroughly confused, and so was she. This literally made no sense. None at all.

And what made even less sense was that when he looked up, Hermione grabbed his face and kissed him again. And his arms automatically went around her waist and pulled her closer, and they couldn't breathe but it didn't really matter.

And then—

'Harry! Hermione! Are you out here?'

For the second time in less than three minutes, Harry and Hermione jumped apart again. They stared at each other.

'We're over by the fountain!' Harry called, his eyes still focused on Hermione.

They heard Ron coming closer, and Hermione finally looked away.

'Thanks for escaping me and not telling me! You would not be-_lieve_ what those Muggles do—some kind of stupid dance involving everyone lining up in a train -'

'Oh, no!' Hermione cried. 'That's my _favourite _part! Did I miss it?'

'There might be a few stragglers, but I think it died down,' Ron said.

'I'm going to go check!' Hermione hurried away.

Harry coughed and put his hands in his pockets.

'You all right?' asked Ron suspiciously.

'Yeah, yeah,' Harry said. 'I just—it was overwhelming in there. All those—you know,' he said. All those _what_? He had absolutely no idea.

'All those _aunts_,' said Ron disgustedly. 'I thought _my_ family was ridiculous; Dean's family is -' He broke up. 'Serves Ginny right,' he said gruffly.

Harry laughed. 'I'm going to head back in. Do you want to come?'

Ron sighed. 'Okay. As long as you promise not to come out here without me again.'

'Promise.'

They walked to the tent. Hermione was at the back of a rather pathetic looking Conga line, laughing.

'Champagne?' said a waiter.

Harry took two flutes and handed one to Ron.

'This stuff _is_ quite good,' Ron admitted, taking a sip.

Hermione saw the boys and waved. And then she smiled, and Harry was fairly certain it was directed at only him. A surprising, new smile he had never seen before.

Harry grinned back. He couldn't help himself. He could still feel her lips against his. He tipped back the flute and emptied it in one gulp. He had absolutely no idea what had happened with him and Hermione. But whatever it was, he liked it. A lot.


	2. Lessons in Ambiguity

'I don't understand, Harry. You admitted Clare was cute. You said she seemed nice. You're not dating anyone else. And she's obviously going to say yes. So you won't go on a date with her … _because_?'

Harry resisted the urge to sigh heavily, knowing it would only infuriate Ron further. Clare had been working with Ron in the Department of Magical Games and Sports for the past five months. She had come out with their group a few nights for drinks, and Ron had noticed that every night she was with them, she paid extra attention to Harry. Ron, subconsciously echoing his mother, had taken to nagging Harry about asking her out.

'I'm just not interested in dating anyone right now,' said Harry. 'I'm extremely busy, and I just—I can't be in a relationship,' he finished awkwardly.

He had considered telling Ron about what had happened at the wedding several times, but it was just too—to strange. Unclassifiable. Especially since Hermione was acting as if nothing had happened. Harry sometimes wondered if he had dreamed up some kind of fantasy while sitting by himself at the fountain, but then he'd be sitting next to Hermione at dinner, and every time he smelled her perfume, he knew that his imagination couldn't have possibly synthesised that: he had breathed it in right before he kissed her. But since she clearly wanted him to forget that, he didn't think it prudent to tell Ron. It would just create unnecessary tension.

'Who said anything about a _relationship_?' Ron asked incredulously. 'Hell, I was just saying take the girl out for a meal or two.'

'I don't want to give her the wrong idea. I mean, you said she's clearly interested. How would it look if I took her out for a couple of dates, as you're suggesting, and then cut the cord?'

'Well, maybe after those two dates …' Ron trailed off hopefully.

Harry shook his head. Ron was actually _worse _than Mrs Weasley, because this kind of thing was normal for Mrs Weasley to fuss about, but Ron made no sense.

'Just think about it?' Ron suggested, somewhat pleadingly.

Harry shrugged in what he hoped was a way that suggested, _Let's drop this subject now, shall we?_

Ron seemed to get the message. 'Just think about it,' he repeated firmly.

*

Hermione had had enough of painting. She wasn't entirely sure _why _she had thought it was so important, but she had been standing in the bathroom and decided that the pale blue was too 'cold.' So she went out and bought a bright yellow paint and, armed with a Muggle paintbrush, had promptly set to work on making an utter mess of the room.

After a few hours, she had flecks of yellow paint all over her arms and in her hair, and she had accidentally stepped into the pie tin holding the white undercoat paint, so the bottom of her foot and her toes were covered with it.

And she was exhausted. So when her doorbell rang, she didn't think twice about letting whomever it was in, even though she resembled a disgruntled canary.

'Harry!' she said, surprised.

'I was—in the neighbourhood,' he said, wondering how obvious it was that he was fibbing. He was _never_ in Hermione's neighbourhood unless he was _visiting_ her.

'Come in.'

Harry sniffed the air as he stepped into Hermione's apartment. 'What are you painting?' he asked.

'The bathroom,' she said, rubbing her right shoulder. 'It's not going very well. I didn't want to use my wand, but I guess I'm going to have to.'

Harry walked down the hallway and peered inside the room. Hermione stood behind him, trying to breathe regularly.

It had been two weeks since the wedding, and Harry hadn't brought up the kiss once. Hermione didn't know what to do. She had decided to act naturally the first time she saw him after the wedding, which was two days later. And it worked, but _too_ well; he was also acting like nothing had happened, which made it entirely impossible to gauge his feelings on the subject. The second time—five days after the wedding, at one of their favourite pubs—she considered confronting him about it, but every time she was prepared to bring it up, Ron had found a way to enter the conversation. The third time, Luna got sick, and so Hermione spent most of her time in the bathroom in Harry's apartment. And by the fourth time … she had just given up. If he wanted to talk about it, he would have said something already.

'It doesn't look too bad,' she heard Harry say, which snapped her out of her daydream.

Hermione frowned. 'Harry, there's yellow all over the ceiling.'

'No,' he protested. 'All right, a few flecks here and there, but that's easily solved with a wand, isn't it?'

'I suppose,' said Hermione.

Harry turned suddenly; she hadn't realised how close she was standing, so his movement made her take a quick step back.

'Um,' she said, looking down. 'Would you like some tea?'

Harry smiled. 'Sure.'

As Hermione heated the water, she happened to catch her reflection. 'Harry!' she gasped. 'Why didn't you _say_ anything? I look like a mess!'

Harry laughed. 'I didn't mind,' he said as Hermione grabbed her wand and began muttering spells. 'I thought you looked -' He cut himself off. He was going to say _cute_. But he was scared about her reaction.

'You thought I looked ridiculous!' said the cleaned-up Hermione.

'No, no. I just meant, it's perfectly understandable for you to have, you know, paint in your hair.'

Hermione sighed and handed Harry his cup of tea, then sat down across the small table from him. They sipped their tea in silence.

'So,' Harry began. He cleared his throat and then faltered. Hermione gave him a strange look. 'How—how are things?' he said slowly.

Hermione's expression didn't change. 'Things are fine. They haven't really changed between last night and this evening.'

Harry studied his cup carefully. 'Right.'

'Is everything all right, Harry?'

'Yeah, fine,' he said quickly. 'I just -' He paused again. How could he possibly bring it up, something that ended just as abruptly and unexpectedly when it started? How could he ask her to tell him how she felt about him when he wasn't entirely sure how he felt—or, more to the point, _why _he felt these things—for her?

And so he didn't. At least, not directly.

'Ron's been bugging me a lot,' he finally said, rolling his eyes. 'About—about dating.'

The tea burnt Hermione's tongue, but she tried not to let it show. 'Oh?' she said. The two-letter word came out sounding entirely ambiguous, which was exactly how she had wanted it to sound.

It wasn't how Harry had hoped it would sound. He tried again.

'He keeps suggesting these girls he thinks I should date …' he trailed off.

Hermione looked down at her cup. She knew she should be supportive. She was his best friend, after all. And what would her justification be, her explanation as to why she advised against him dating against the girls Ron suggested? Surprisingly enough, Ron was an unwitting matchmaker, so she couldn't bring up his ineptitude in the field. And she had met a few of the girls; they were sweet, and intelligent, and pretty—and they would each have made a suitable girlfriend for Harry. She was certain that they could make him happy.

_But so could I._

Hermione ignored that thought. How could she know that she could make him happy when she didn't even know how, exactly, she felt about him? It was too confusing. He was still Harry. But he was now this … other thing. And she kept noticing things about him that she had never picked up on before. Like how long his fingers were, without being spiderlike. And how cute it was when he pushed his messy hair out of his face. And the way he rubbed the back of his neck.

But how could she possibly explain that to him?

'Maybe—maybe you should take his advice,' she forced herself to say.

'Take his advice?' repeated Harry, trying not to look, sound, or in any way give off the impression that he was discouraged by her response.

'I mean, if anyone could pick a girl out for you, Harry, it'd be Ron.'

He wanted to say, _Or I could just be with you_.

It came out as, 'Or you.'

Hermione tried not to look disappointed. 'But I don't know anyone that you'd be interested in,' she said. 'So—so maybe you should, you know, go on a date with one of the girls Ron suggested.'

Harry cleared his throat. 'Maybe,' he said. Either his plan had backfired, or Hermione … just wasn't interested. He couldn't help but try once more. 'Hermione, you know at—at the—when -'

She looked at him expectantly. 'When what?'

Her blank stare made him falter. She didn't want him to bring it up, did she?

'Oh—nothing.' He swallowed. 'I just wasn't sure if—you know.'

'What?' she asked again.

'I wasn't sure if you had—if you had had a good time,' he said.

'Oh,' she said, feeling thoroughly depressed. _Why_ didn't he want to talk about it? 'Yes, I had a wonderful time.'

'Good, good,' said Harry.

'Good,' Hermione echoed after a few moments.

'So …' Harry cleared his throat. 'Is Ron trying to throw anyone on _you_? Or are you potentially seeing anyone?'

He couldn't help it. He wanted to know. He needed to.

Hermione wanted to bury her head in her hands. _Nope_, she thought glumly. 'Oh, there was a guy from the Ministry,' she said vaguely, praying he wouldn't ask for a name. 'We went for dinner, and … you know. It just wasn't very interesting. But I liked Dean's friends from his office.' This was somewhat of a fabrication. Ginny had hinted that one of these friends, Addison Finley, had said he thought Hermione was pretty, but Hermione hadn't met him, though she had meant several of Dean's loud, unattractive co-workers. Addison was most likely the type to fit in the same category: overly masculine and completely overwhelming, with a tendency to keep his voice raised simply because he liked the way it sounded. But at least she didn't sound entirely pathetic.

'Yeah,' Harry said. He knew which ones she was talking about, multiple British versions of Viktor Krum. He hadn't realised that was still Hermione's type. He shrugged. 'Maybe you should go out with one of them,' he said.

Hermione looked up to find Harry staring at her. And for a moment, she thought she saw something. A question. But then he blinked and looked away.

She took another sip of her tea. 'Maybe,' she said.

*

That night, two owls were sent out from two separate apartments.

The first:

_Clare, _

_This might be a bit forward of me, but would you like to have dinner next Saturday night? _

_Harry._

The second:

_Ginny, _

_I hope the honeymoon is fabulous, and I don't mean to interrupt anything, but could you somehow find a way to tell Addison Finley that I'd be interested in seeing him without making it look desperate?_

_Love, Hermione._


	3. Accidental

'I had a great time,' said Clare, brushing her hair behind her ear.

Harry smiled. 'Me, too.'

He meant it. Clare was incredibly sweet, but she also had a biting sense of humour that was surprisingly charming. There had been a few awkward pauses at the beginning of the conversation, but she had been easy to talk to, able to discuss Quidditch without emasculating Harry, even though she probably _did_ know more than he did. And she was attractive. Extremely.

_But _…

Harry pushed the thought out of his mind. But _nothing_. He forced himself to focus on Clare's perfectly straight, blond hair.

'Would you like to come in for a glass of wine?' she asked.

He hesitated. He knew what that offer usually stood for, and he wasn't sure if he was ready, even though it was their third date. They hadn't even kissed yet.

And then he reminded himself that there was no reason why he _shouldn't_ be ready. It wasn't like he was getting over anyone, right?

Of course.

'I'd love to,' he said. She led him up the stairs and unlocked the door to apartment 2F carefully.

'I'm warning you,' she said, opening the door slowly. 'It's a bit of a mess right now.' She flicked on the light.

Harry looked around. If there was a mess, he couldn't see it. In fact, the apartment appeared spotless.

'I can give you a quick tour,' she offered, shutting the door and locking it. 'This is, um, well, the main room.' She pointed to the small stove. 'And that's the kitchen, obviously.' She led him down a hallway. 'Bathroom,' she said, pointing. 'Guest room.' 'And my room.' She turned on the light. The bed, was made perfectly; even the pillows were fluffed just-so. The walls were white, with a crisp blue border that matched the blanket spread perfectly across her bed.

'It's nice,' said Harry, grinning down at her. 'But not messy,' he added.

She rolled her eyes. 'How about that wine, then?' He followed her down the hallway. 'Make yourself comfortable.'

Harry studied the mantelpiece. There were multiple framed moving photographs, mostly of friends. There was even one with Ron and several other people from their department.. And then there was one in the centre of a middle-aged witch and wizard with two girls who looked like two younger, matching versions of Clare.

'I didn't know you had a sister,' said Harry, surprised. He looked over at Clare, who was just pulling a bottle of wine out of a cabinet. He could only see her back, but he saw her stop moving.

'Twin,' she said abruptly.

Harry recognised her tone of voice with a sinking feeling. He had used it before, when people asked him if he remembered his parents.

'I'm sorry,' he said softly. 'I didn't mean to pry.'

She shrugged and began to move again., taking the bottle down. 'It's all right.' She pulled a corkscrew out, opened the bottle, and poured each of them a glass. She sat down on the couch, and Harry followed suit, taking the glass she proffered him. They sipped their wine in silence. Finally, Clare set her glass on a coaster and said softly, 'She died just after we turned seventeen.' She looked down. Harry turned towards her slowly. 'It was an accident. My wand—it was my mother's old one, and it was lousy. My birthday present was going to be a new one, in fact. Anyway, we were so excited about being of age that we decided to try a few spells -' Clare swallowed. 'And she wanted curly brown hair and—and my wand backfired, or something.' She looked away. 'And then she was dead. Just like that.'

'I'm so sorry.' Harry corrected himself. 'I actually don't like it when anyone says that to me, but I—I really am.

Clare sighed. 'Me, too.'

'But you know it wasn't your fault, right?'

She laughed bitterly. 'Like I haven't heard _that_ one before. It was my wand, and I was the one saying the incantation. _Of course_ it was my fault.'

'It was an accident,' said Harry, putting his glass on the small table and taking Clare's hand. 'I—look, I don't know _exactly_ what that's like, but I'm—I'm responsible for several deaths, accidentally. I mean, my parents - ' He stopped. 'They—they died because of _me_, you know? They died _for_ me, but they wouldn't have had to die for anyone if it wasn't for me. And—and not just them. So many people have been -' He stopped again. It was strange. He wanted to keep talking. He felt so comfortable. This discussion had always been difficult with Ron and Hermione because, while they had obviously suffered losses throughout, they didn't understand what it was like to be responsible for someone else's death, even if you didn't really do anything wrong.

He looked at Clare. Her lip was trembling, but she was smiling at him slightly, and she looked beautiful. A few tears rolled slowly down her pale cheeks. She tried to wipe them away. 'I'm sorry,' she said, laughing a little. 'I bet you weren't anticipating me crying within the first two weeks.'

Harry leaned forward and kissed her right cheek lightly, then her left cheek, and then he trailing kisses down her cheekbone to her mouth. Their lips came together and it felt … good. It really did. Safe. Harry cupped her face gently, and then slid his hands down her back, pulling her towards him. Clare wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him more passionately. She tugged at his shirt, pushing it down over his shoulders. Harry slid his hands underneath her blouse, tracing lines across her skin as he kissed her throat. 'Is this—is this going too fast?' he breathed into her neck.

Clare kissed his lips. 'No,' she said firmly.

As Harry picked Clare up and carried her down the hallway towards her bedroom, he wondered if it was wrong for either of them to believe that this would alleviate any of the pain they both felt, pain they had been hiding from themselves. He worried that she wouldn't want to see him again after this, because he really and truly did like her. He debated whether Clare _was_ right, that this wasn't too fast.

But for the first time in nearly four weeks, he didn't think once about Hermione.

A/N: Just a short one; I felt like this and the next one needed to be split up (plus, it's extremely satisfying to be on somewhat of a streak again). I feel like this one's going to warrant some complaints, but don't give up hope (yet)!


	4. That's Good, Isn't It?

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this next bit! Please read and review! And I promise it all will ultimately make sense, honest!

Hermione crouched down and wrapped her arms around the dog's body. 'Good boy,' she said, laughing as he eagerly attempted to lick her face.

'I reckon my dog fancies you, Hermione,' said Addison.

'I love you too, Charlie,' Hermione said, rubbing behind the dog's floppy ears. She stood up again. 'He's a great dog,' she added as Charlie trotted happily over to Addison.

Addison nodded, then held out the (slightly grimy) tennis ball. He shook it in front of Charlie's face before throwing it—far—across the park. Charlie bolted after it. 'He's excellent company,' he said. 'Dependable, faithful—always cheers me up when I've had a rough day. Except when he gets into the garbage.'

Hermione walked over to the swings and sat down on one, shivering slightly. The sky was gloomy, and the park was empty, save for a mother and two quiet children, who were using the other swing set. Addison sat down next to her. 'Thanks for coming with me,' he said. 'I haven't had much time to take Charlie out to run around like this for a long time.'

Hermione smiled. 'You're very welcome,' she said. Not that it had taken much convincing. Hermione had so enjoyed her first date with Addison that she had agreed to his request almost immediately. Like Hermione, Addison came from a Muggle family; he was four years older than she, and a Ravenclaw, which explained why she had never seen him. She had been pleasantly surprised by how different he was from what she had expected. He was gentle, soft-spoken, and incredibly bright (he even _Hogwarts: A History_ almost as well as she did).

'Listen,' he said slowly. 'I know this might sound kind of—you know, strange—but how would you feel about going out for Indian tonight? It's just … there's this fantastic Muggle restaurant, and I just -' He laughed. 'I think it will go more smoothly with you than it did when I suggested it to some of my mates. They were baffled.'

Hermione smiled again. 'Let me guess: the ordering system threw them off?' she asked.

'They didn't understand why food didn't keep filling up. And when they got the check and realised they had to pay for every single dish they had ordered -' Addison shuddered. 'I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm indirectly responsible for multiple Memory charms that evening. That's the last time I _ever_ suggest a Muggle restaurant to anyone who has no affiliation with a Muggle lifestyle.'

'Ron _still_ doesn't understand that you don't need to shout into the telephone,' Hermione said.

'Dean told me,' Addison said, laughing. He whistled; Charlie came sprinting back towards them. Addison stood and held out his hand. 'Shall we?'

Hermione hesitated. There was a part of her, whether she liked to admit it or not, that wasn't entirely sure if this was really what she wanted. But she refused to admit _why_ she was unsure.

And then she looked up at Addison's face. He smiled at her encouragingly. She took his hand and stood up. His smile widened and he locked their fingers.

*

Hermione shut her apartment door and pressed her forehead against it.

Ginny had always teased Hermione for sometimes being extremely naïve and oblivious. Hermione had thought she'd outgrown that, but apparently not, considering she had just accidentally avoided a kiss from Addison.

Hermione sighed. They had said goodnight, and he had gone to kiss her, reaching his hand out to hold her face. Hermione had assumed he was trying to shake hands and, confused as to why his hand was at chin level, had brought it down and shaken it firmly. He had given her a funny look, smiled slightly and then turned away.

'Stupid,' she said softly. How could she _not_ have realised that he was trying to kiss her? What a terrible way to end a wonderful evening.

There was a light knock on the door. Hermione took a few steps back, and panicked. He could probably see her shadow, so she couldn't very well pretend that she was walking from another room to answer the door. So, taking a deep breath, she opened it.

'Hi,' said Addison.

'Hi,' said Hermione.

'I just -' He broke off and rubbed his forehead. 'I'm sure I'm breaking some kind of rule by actually mentioning this, because I don't think you're supposed to discuss it, but I—I was trying to kiss you goodnight. And I just -' He stopped again. 'I'm really bad at this.' He cleared his throat. 'I just wasn't sure if the handshake was supposed to be a way to avoid the kiss, because you're not interested, or if it was a joke or—or what.'

Hermione looked down at her feet. 'No, I'm just really thick,' she confessed. 'And didn't realise you were trying to kiss me.'

'Oh,' said Addison slowly. 'Well. That makes me feel slightly better.'

'And makes me feel like a prat,' said Hermione, keeping her eyes focused on the ground.

'No, no. It shouldn't. It's—it's really cute.'

'And _now_ I feel like a little kid,' Hermione said, laughing.

'No, I didn't mean it that way either -'

'I know,' she said gently.

Addison leaned forward slowly. 'I'm going to kiss you now,' he said, one of his small smiles playing across his face. 'If that's alright.'

Hermione smiled back. 'Okay,' she said.

And then their lips were pressed together, and it felt … nice. It was as simple as that. It felt right.

*

Harry kissed Clare's shoulder blade lightly. 'Is everything okay?'

She rolled over to look at him and bit her lip. 'It's fine, it's just -' She paused. 'I'm worried what you'll think of me now.'

He frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'Just that—that I don't usually do this. I—I don't know how to explain it. It feels different. With you, I mean.' She blushed. 'I must sound like a fool.'

Harry kissed her. 'No,' he said. 'I understand.'

She smiled. 'You're just saying that so I don't kick you out of bed,' she teased.

Harry laughed. He couldn't explain why he felt so comfortable, lying next to this mostly unfamiliar girl in her unfamiliar bed. He hadn't ever really been a situation like this before. But he felt safe. It obviously had something to do with the fact that he had finally met someone who _could_ actually understand how he felt, instead of just being able to listen to him describe it. Not that he wasn't grateful for Ron and Hermione, but there was just—something about being with someone who knew exactly what it felt like … it was very refreshing. To not have to explain himself. 'If you want me to leave, I'll go,' he said. 'I won't stay unless you want me to.'

Clare bit her lip again. 'I—I want you to stay,' she said.

Harry touched her cheek. 'So I'll stay.'

*

'I can't believe you _slept_ with her,' Ron said, half-incredulously, half-enviously. 'What was it like?'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Bloody hell, Ron. I'm not going to give you the bloody play-by-play.'

'But was it -'

'Stop,' said Harry, cutting him off.

'So are you going to see her again?'

Harry nodded. 'Yes. I really like her. Honest.'

'So I was _right_,' said Ron triumphantly.

'You said I should only take her out for dinner or something,' Harry countered.

'I said that so you'd -'

'Sorry I'm late,' said Hermione breathlessly, sliding in to the booth next to Ron. 'Your bloody ex-girlfriend is a bloody idiot.'

'Are you talking about yourself?' Ron asked. 'Seriously.'

Hermione laughed loudly. 'No, no. Lavender. She's extremely thick.'

'I was aware,' Ron said drily.

'What did I miss?'

'Harry has himself a girlfriend. And _I _found him the girl,' Ron bragged before Harry could stop him.

Not that he _should_ stop him. Why did it matter if Hermione found out?

'Oh?' said Hermione. She didn't know what else to say.

'She's not my girlfriend,' Harry said awkwardly.

'Not _yet_,' corrected Ron. 'But they've already slept together.'

Hermione didn't know what to say, or how to explain why she felt slightly betrayed. It didn't make sense, of course. She'd just been with Addison the other night, and she really did like him. So why these pangs of jealousy?

'Thanks, Ron,' said Harry, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Hermione smiled. 'Congratulations,' she said as sweetly as she could, hoping it could pass for sincere (though she really couldn't understand why she wasn't _actually_ being sincere). 'Who is she and why I haven't I met her?' she half-joked.

'Her name is -' Ron began.

'My _God_, Ron. Let Harry speak for himself.

Harry laughed. 'Her name's Clare Hunter. She works in Magical Games and Sports.'

Hermione knew immediately whom they were talking about, and her heart sank. Clare was incredibly witty and absolutely _gorgeous_ (again—why was her heart _sinking_ about this? Why couldn't she just be happy for Harry?). 'I know her,' Hermione said. 'Well, know _of _her. She seems very—nice.'

Harry nodded, slightly confused at why Hermione's smile was so incredibly huge. 'Yeah, she's great.'

'Good,' said Hermione.

'Good,' echoed Harry.

'_Good_,' said Ron. He nudged Hermione. 'Speaking of—Dean and Ginny told me about Addison. How come _you_ didn't say anything?'

'Because I was worried you'd go over there to try and show him who's boss and I'd wind up sitting next to you at St Mungo's for the rest of the week,' Hermione teased.

Harry swallowed. 'Who's Addison?'

'Works at International Magical Cooperation,' said Ron before Hermione could speak. 'They met at Ginny's wedding.'

Harry knew which one he was talking about. Even Harry had to admit he was handsome man. And he seemed friendly, too; he had danced with not one but two of the less attractive Weasley aunts with a smile on his face the whole time.

'Thanks, Ronald,' Hermione said sarcastically. 'And while we're at it, what do you have to say about _your_ love life?'

'There's nothing to tell,' Ron said happily. 'Back to you, Miss Granger. What's he _like_?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'My darling ex, do you _really_ want to know?'

'So wait,' said Harry slowly. 'Is he your boyfriend?' He looked up, and then looked away. He didn't want Hermione to be able to see his reaction to whatever her answer was.

'Not exactly,' she said. 'We've just, you know, been on a few dates and -' She stopped. 'He's very sweet.'

Ron scoffed. 'Oh, well if he's _sweet_, then he's a keeper. Does he _say_ anything? Or is he as monosyllabic as Krum?'

'Oh, _stop_. He's very smart. My conversations with him are certainly more interesting than any I've ever had with you.'

_Or me_, thought Harry glumly. But why was he disappointed that this Addison was smart? Hermione deserved to be with someone who could keep up with her.

'So do you like him?' Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Hermione smiled slightly. 'I think I do,' she said.

Harry forced a smile. He wondered if she could tell.

'Great,' said Harry.

'Great,' said Hermione.

'_Excellent_,' Ron said enthusiastically.


	5. This Is What Content Feels Like, I Think

'Damn,' cursed Hermione, wincing as she grabbed at her stubbed toe. She wasn't ready: she couldn't find her shoes, her hair was still wet, and she hadn't put on any makeup.

And she wasn't even sure why they were doing this.

It was all Ron's fault, of course. He had found himself a girl in International Magical Cooperation who was close with Addison _and_ happened to be good friends with Clare. And, to make things even lovelier, Addison and Clare knew each other; they had lived in the same bloody neighbourhood in Surrey. So, of course, Ron had the brilliant idea that they should all go out for dinner. Three incredibly close friends dating three somewhat close friends—wasn't that just _perfect_, Mrs Weasley had commented when Ron told her the wonderful news.

Of course, it should have been. Hermione didn't understand why she was so irritated with all of it—with Ron for asking this girl, instead of any of the other girls who worked at the Ministry of Magic, with Addison and Clare for living in the same neighbourhood, with the girl for knowing not one but _both_ of them, with … with _everything_. But for the past two months, she had been trying to keep her romantic life separate from Harry—and Ron, too, of course. And now, despite her attempts at avoiding it ('I have an early meeting that Monday; I really _must_ work!' 'I'm afraid I'm visiting my parents; maybe some other time!'), she had run out of excuses.

So here she was, attempting to ignore the throbbing pain in her left big toe as she worked on making her hair straight.

She _should_ be happy with it, really. She knew she should. She should be happy that Ron had found a girl—Rose was her name, or was it Iris?—whose company he seemed to enjoy. She should be happy that her boyfriend (or whatever it was that Addison was; they had never really discussed the title of their relationship) was close with this flower-named girl, and that the girl and Clare knew each other, and Addison and Clare knew each other, because it could be such a mess, attempting to force friendships with three strangers simply because Ron, Harry and Hermione were so close. It was so much simpler this way. She should be happy.

So _why_ was she so irritable about it? And why was she so impulsively keen to keep Addison separate from the best friends she had ever had? She wasn't embarrassed about him. She knew they both liked him, and he liked them. He was smart, funny, and sweet. He treated her well. There was nothing to be embarrassed about.

All the same, she found herself coming up with excuses so that they wouldn't have to be around Ron and Harry. And she didn't really understand why.

There was a knock on the door.

'Damn,' Hermione repeated to herself. Granted, she looked more ready than she had ten minutes before. She looked down at her toe. It was slightly red, but nothing terrible. She hurried to the door and opened it. 'Hey,' she said, tilting her head up to kiss Addison. 'I'm sorry; I'm just running a bit behind.' She turned to go back into the apartment, but he took her arm and pulled her back, kissing her again. 'I missed you,' he said softly.

Hermione smiled and kissed his lips one more time. 'I missed you too,' she replied. He kissed her again. And again. They moved into the apartment and shut the door, and he kissed her again, And again and again and again.

'We're going to be late,' she said between kisses, laughing as she half-heartedly attempted to push him away.

He studied her. 'You look absolutely beautiful,' he said. He stroked her hair.

Hermione smiled. 'You don't look half bad yourself,' she whispered. 'I just need a few more minutes and then we can go.'

'That's fine.'

Hermione walked towards the bathroom. She glanced over her shoulder; Addison was watching her, smiling. She laughed. The way he looked at her … she couldn't explain it, but he made her feel so … blissfully _happy_. She couldn't get used to it. She had never felt anything like it before.

And yet … she shook her head. And yet _what_? She couldn't put her finger on it. It was always like that—she would think about how happy she was with him, and suddenly, she'd feel something, something she couldn't quite define … that made her feel like she was settling. And it was so frustrating, because it wasn't _all_ the time that she felt that way; it wasn't consistent, so she couldn't say she was continually unhappy. It wasn't even that she was unhappy, really—that was the wrong word. So what _did _she mean?

Hermione applied her lipstick carefully and studied herself in the mirror for several moments.

It was just that she sometimes looked at Addison and wondered if he was the one she really wanted to be looking at.

'Hermione? You ready?'

She snapped out of her reverie. 'Sorry, I just need to get my shoes.'

She went into her room, slipped on her shoes and grabbed her cloak. Then, she hurried into the main room. She wrapped her arms around Addison's neck and kissed him. 'Ready,' she said.

He grinned and kissed her one more time. 'Ready,' he repeated.

****

Harry knocked three times on the door to Clare's apartment. She opened it almost immediately. 'Sorry,' she apologised. 'I'm a bit disorganised.'

Harry wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. 'It's all right,' he mumbled into her hair. 'I know I'm a few minutes early. I couldn't wait.'

She kissed his cheek. 'I missed you, too,' she said, shutting the apartment door behind them. 'I just need to brush my hair and then we can go.'

Harry studied her hair as he followed her down the hallway. It looked as glossy and straight as always; he didn't understand why she needed to brush it. And she clearly wasn't disorganised—then again, Clare's idea of disorganised was Harry's idea of Practically Perfect. Disorganised to Clare meant a few papers on her desk instead of in folders. Not that it bothered him; he thought it was cute how meticulous she was in every area of her life.

Clare sat down at the dresser and began to brush her hair. Harry leaned against the doorframe, watching her. She really was beautiful. And sweet. And funny. He made her happier than any girl had before. Sometimes he would get to her apartment and she would open the door and throw her arms around him and wrap her legs around his waist like a little girl, like she had never been more excited to see anyone her entire life.

Ron complained that Harry avoided him and Hermione when he was with Clare. Harry noticed that he did it, too, although he wasn't sure why. He said it was because he didn't want to jinx it this early on, but that argument made no sense. And he sometimes joked that he didn't want Ron to steal her away, but now that Ron had himself a girlfriend, that explanation was similarly unusable. But there was just—_something_ that compelled him to spend time with only Clare, or spend time with only Ron and Hermione. He had never thought he would separate his life into categories like that, but he couldn't stop himself from doing it. And he wasn't completely sure why.

Clare caught him staring at her. 'What?' she said, smiling as she set the brush down. She opened a small jewellery box and pulled out a thin, silver chain, with a small charm on it.

He walked towards her. 'You,' he said simply.

She laughed and fiddled with the clasp. 'That doesn't make sense.'

Harry took the two sides of the necklace from her hands and carefully attached them behind her neck. 'No, I just mean—you look lovely,' he said softly. He brushed her hair to the side and kissed her neck. 'Beautiful.'

Clare turned to him, catching his mouth with hers. 'Thank you,' she whispered.

He loved the way she looked at him when he said things like that. And yet—and yet he couldn't help but notice that it was a somewhat fleeting feeling. He didn't understand it. He loved spending time with her, loved how soft her skin was, loved how comfortable he felt talking about his parents with her. And yet sometimes, when he left her house, he felt a little … empty. Like something was missing. It didn't happen all the time, but when it did, he didn't know what to do.

'Harry?'

Harry blinked. Clare was staring at him curiously. 'Are you all right?' she asked.

He nodded. 'Sorry, it was just—you know. Long day. Lots of paperwork. I'm a bit tired. Are you ready to go?'

She nodded and stood up, turning away from him. Harry stopped her, pulled her towards him and kissed her. He didn't like that empty feeling, and kissing her made it go away. He felt like he was coming home to something every time he kissed her.

After a few moments, she pulled away. 'You're going to make us late,' she teased him. '_And_ I'll have to brush my hair again.'

He laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear. 'You look fine,' he promised. 'Better than fine, actually.'

Clare kissed his mouth and then slipped on her shoes. 'Shall we?'

And there it was. The slightly empty feeling. Only he couldn't understand why it was happening _now_. He was with her; it usually only happened when he left.

He smiled, trying to hide his confusion. 'We shall.'

****

All in all, it was turning out to be an incredibly successful evening. Harry and Hermione were both surprised by how completely infatuated Ron was with Rose. She was sarcastic without being unbearable, and she smiled a lot. And Ron just couldn't keep his eyes off of her.

They had all drank far too much wine, and Harry was sitting with his arm around Clare, her hand resting on his thigh, perfectly content. Rose and Ron were sharing a dessert, some complicated mousse dish, and they were laughing about something Ron had muttered under his breath (Harry hadn't picked it up).

Rose gestured with her fork towards the dance floor. 'They look so happy,' she remarked. She was referring to Addison and Hermione. Harry looked up just in time to see Addison twirl Hermione, before bringing her back towards him and kissing her mouth, which was turned up into a smile. Harry felt a funny jolt in his stomach, but he tried to ignore it and continued to watch them. Hermione whispered something in Addison's ear and he laughed. He was very tall, but their unalike frames seemed to balance each other out; Hermione's petite frame did not make Addison look like a giant, nor did Addison's tall stature make Hermione seem miniscule. They looked, well, perfect. Well-matched.

And their perfection, and their happiness, made something twist inside Harry's stomach like a knot. Why couldn't he just be happy for her? Why did something feel so—so _wrong_ about this?

'Do you want to dance?' Ron asked. 'Is that what you're implying?'

Harry almost laughed. Of _course_ Ron would phrase the question like that.

'You could do with burning a few of the calories from the mousse,' Rose teased, standing up. 'I'd love to dance.'

Ron rolled his eyes and grinned at Harry, who reciprocated. Ron wrapped his arms around Rose's waist, and they pressed their foreheads together, whispering and laughing.

Clare leaned her head against his chest. 'I've never eaten so much in my life,' she confessed with a groan.

Harry kissed the top of her head but didn't say anything. After a few moments of content silence, she poked his ribs. 'So, Mr Potter, are you going to ask _me_ to dance?'

He laughed. 'I assumed the comment about overeating meant that you were too lazy to dance!'

'No!' Clare stood up. 'I couldn't possibly pass up the opportunity to see whether or not the Boy Who Lived is also a boy with two left feet.'

Harry chuckled and stood up. 'If you're hoping to be pleasantly surprised, you won't be.'

'Just don't step on my feet,' she teased as they walked hand-in-hand towards the small crowd of couples, swaying slowly. He placed his left hand on the small of her back and took her right hand in his. She smiled shyly, and placed her hand on his shoulder. 'Not bad,' she commented.

'Thanks,' he said. She looked so beautiful. He kissed her; he just couldn't stop himself.

'I've never seen Harry like that,' Hermione said out loud. She hadn't meant to say it. She hadn't even noticed that he and Clare had left the table. And then she had seen Harry smile at Clare and then lean in to kiss her. And she felt her heart in her throat, and she couldn't understand why.

'What do you mean?' Addison asked.

Hermione shrugged, realising that she needed an answer. 'Just—well, he was happy with Ginny, of course. But I've never seen him—like that.' To her horror, there was a hint of longing in her voice. _Why_?

'They do seem perfect for each other,' Addison said. He kissed Hermione's cheek. 'Speaking of perfect—have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?'

'You don't have to keep saying that, you know,' she said, bemused. 'You've already charmed me.'

'But I mean it every time,' he said, smiling down at her. 'Honest.'

Hermione closed her eyes and rested her head against Addison's shoulder. She breathed in deeply. He rubbed her back gently. 'Every time,' he repeated, kissing the top of her head.

Hermione opened her eyes and saw Harry kiss Clare again. And then Clare rested her cheek against Harry's, and all of a sudden, he was looking right at Hermione. She tried to smile, but she just couldn't. And she tried to look away, but she couldn't do that either. And neither could he.

And so they just stared at each other, holding on to their respective dates, trying to understand why neither of them could look away.

'I love you, Harry,' Clare whispered.

Harry couldn't stop looking at Hermione, and he almost didn't hear Clare speak. But he did, and—and. And he couldn't _not_ say it back, could he? He was with Clare. And he cared about her. And—and he was getting there, wasn't he? 'I love you, too,' he said softly into her ear. She raised her lips to kiss him—and it was only then that he broke his gaze from Hermione.

Hermione looked away, blinking away tears, confused _why_ there were tears at all.

'Hermione, I -' Addison hesitated. 'I know it's—it's crazy, but I love you.'

Hermione swallowed. She cared about him, and she wanted to love Addison. And most of her was fairly certain that she did. And besides, Harry hadn't _really_ been looking at her—he had just been staring blankly. 'I—I love you, too,' she whispered. She lifted her face to meet his, and his hand stroked her cheek gently as he kissed her. She _did_ love him. Or—she almost did.

And that was good enough, wasn't it?

A/N: I realised I haven't been great about adding disclaimers, so: J. K. Rowling created the (main) characters, but that the plot and minor characters are my own.

The inspiration for this section (if anyone was wondering) was: 'For Blue Skies' by Strays Don't Sleep, 'Look After You' by the Fray and 'Half Asleep' by Seven Bells. When I write, I tend to listen to the same three or four songs on repeat until I'm finished. And I'm not entirely sure why these three were the ones for this chapter, but there you have it. Anyway, I'll try to post the next chapter soon! Thanks for your reviews! Please keep 'em coming!


	6. This Is Also Known As Denial

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling, brilliant woman that she is, created the main characters and Diagon Alley, and in general the wizarding world that provides the backdrop for this story. The added characters and plot are entirely my own.

Hermione tried not to laugh as Ginny babbled on about her life with Dean. They had just passed their four-month anniversary, and Ginny couldn't stop gushing. Not that Hermione minded, really; it was just that she was still getting comfortable with _this_ Ginny. Ginny had always been more reserved when it came to her love life; she was always stubborn, short-tempered, and passionate, but she had never been effusive when it came to her relationships. In fact, when Dean had proposed, Hermione was worried that Ginny was not as enthusiastic as she ought to have been. She asked one morning, as the two of them were looking through binders filled with potential wedding invitations.

'Of course I want to marry him,' Ginny had responded, surprised. 'Why—does it seem like I'm doubting it?'

'Not exactly,' Hermione had said slowly. 'You just, you know, aren't saying much.'

Ginny smiled and looked down at the ring on her hand. 'I'm excited,' she admitted. 'I'm—I know this is right. I don't have a single doubt in my mind. I guess I haven't said much because I—I don't know. I just don't talk about this stuff a lot, I suppose. I think that comes from growing up with five brothers who all winced any time the word 'love' came up in any conversation.'

But now, Ginny was completely different. And Hermione was, well, envious. Hermione had never talked about anyone like this before, ever. Like they were everything she would ever need, ever. Not that she was unhappy with Addison, but she just didn't know if she would ever talk to him the way Ginny talked about Dean. And this bothered her.

'So what about you?' Ginny asked, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. 'Any updates?' She leaned forward. 'How are things going with Addison?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Great,' she said, attempting to match Ginny's enthusiasm; it came out sounding like a lie, and she knew it.

Ginny looked at her uncertainly. 'You don't sound so sure of it,' she remarked.

Hermione looked away. 'They're great,' she repeated. 'He's—he's great.'

'Is that the only word you can come up with? Great?' Ginny nudged Hermione. 'You can tell me, you know. I won't go spreading it around. What's wrong?'

'That's the thing—_nothing_ is wrong,' Hermione replied, shrugging again.

Ginny studied her friend. 'If nothing was wrong, you wouldn't be using the same single word over and over again to describe your relationship.'  
Hermione sighed. 'I—I don't _know_ what's wrong, exactly,' she said. 'I mean—really, if you look at the relationship, nothing _should_ be wrong. It's all so—so perfect. He's wonderful, really. He's sweet and patient. He's not an overwhelming chauvinist, but he still treats me, you know, like a lady. And he's _funny_, and he's _smart_.' Hermione stopped. She couldn't think of anything else to say.

'But?' Ginny prompted.

'But -' Hermione hesitated. But _what_? She didn't know. 'It's just,' she began slowly. 'I just—I can't stop thinking that maybe … I don't know, maybe I'm not with the right person?'

Ginny cocked her head and examined Hermione's face. 'Because there's someone else?'

Hermione hesitated just a fraction of a second too long before replying. 'No.'

'There is, isn't there?' Ginny clapped her hands together, her eyes gleaming. 'Who? _Who_?'

'No, really. There isn't anyone.'

'You're not cheating on Addison, are you?'

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. 'Of course not, Ginny! Are you attempting to live vicariously through me?'

'Absolutely! If you're having an affair, I want to know about it!'

'Well, I'm not!'

'So why did you hesitate when I asked you if there was anyone else?'

'Because -' Hermione stopped. She couldn't bring herself to say it. Not to Ginny. Which was bizarre, because Ginny was her sole confidante in this area of her life. 'It's nothing. Just a crush.' She smiled a little. Saying it aloud—even though she wasn't sure that she should really be calling this a crush—made her feel better.

The truth was, she couldn't stop thinking about him. Harry. She would be sitting in her office, finishing up her paperwork, and he would be on her mind, suddenly, unexpectedly. And when she met with him and Ron for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron—which they had done for every other day of the work week for the past three years—she always felt the same rush of blood to her face, the same pounding in her heart. It was uncontrollable. And it never stopped. Every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, she was the same jittery mess.

'Who is he?'

'I—I can't say.' Hermione swallowed. 'I'm sorry—I just can't.'

She expected Ginny to badger her, but instead, she shrugged. 'All right.'

'You're—you're not mad?' Hermione asked suspiciously.

'Of course not,' Ginny said. 'I'm sure you have your reasons for not telling me. But -' She paused. 'If you have feelings for another guy, why are you with Addison?'

Hermione didn't answer.

She had been asking herself the same thing, and she couldn't think of an explanation.

****

Harry grinned as Clare did a little twirl; behind her, three mirror images copied her movements. 'You look great,' he said.

'Do you think so?' Clare glanced back at the mirrors. 'You don't think it's too, you know, overwhelming?'

Harry laughed. 'Of course not.' Clare held out her hand and Harry stood up. She wrapped his arms around her waist, and they both studied their reflection in the mirror. Clare was in a particularly good mood today, probably because she had finally convinced Harry to go shopping with her. It hadn't been too bad in the end; Harry had been apprehensive mainly because his one and only shopping experience with Ginny had resulted in one of the major fights that ultimately led to their breakup. But Clare had been undemanding and entertaining, striking poses and laughing at herself.

Harry pressed his mouth to her neck, breathing in her perfume. He loved the way she smelled, and how comfortable he felt holding her. And yet, despite that—he couldn't explain it, but something was still missing. And he wasn't sure what it was.

'I'm getting them,' Clare announced.

Harry shook his head. 'You mean _I'm_ getting them.'

She turned to him. 'What?'

'I want to buy them for you,' he said.

'No, Harry -'

'I want to,' he insisted. 'Let me. Please?'

'But why?'

'Just because,' he said. He kissed her, laughing at her confused expression. 'Just because I want to,' he repeated.

She grinned. 'If you're sure …'

'Of course I am. Get changed and we'll pay.'

Harry rubbed his face as Clare closed the curtain. He had never wanted to buy a girlfriend presents before. He didn't understand why Clare was different. And why, even though he loved treating her, and loved talking to her, and being with her, and lying next to her in bed, and holding her hand over dinner—why something just felt ever so slightly … off.

After paying, Clare and Harry walked back out into Diagon Alley. It was nightfall, and the shops were beginning to close. Clare took Harry's hand. 'Thank you, Harry,' she said. 'I love you.'

He kissed the top of her head. 'Because I buy you presents?' he teased.

'No! Well, I don't mind that, but I just—I love you.'

Harry was about to respond, when—

'Harry! Clare!'

They turned to find Ginny waving furiously at them from farther down the street; Dean was holding her other hand. Harry swallowed. Hermione was next to her, also smiling and waving—with Addison.

The two groups met. Hermione kissed Clare's cheek and hugged Harry—and he couldn't help but notice that her hold was looser than normal. Addison and Dean both shook Harry's hand, and then Clare and Ginny hugged, and Dean and Clare were introduced and Addison and Clare hugged.

All in all, it was incredibly uncomfortable.

'We just had dinner,' Ginny explained. 'At this place Addison recommended. It was delicious; I've never been to a Muggle restaurant quite like it.'

'What was wrong with the Muggle restaurants _I _took you to?' Dean demanded, feigning annoyance.

'Hamburger restaurants aren't exactly hard to find, darling,' Ginny teased.

'It's this really great restaurant where you choose what you want and they cook it in front of you,' Addison explained to Clare and Harry.

'And then we went to this delicious bakery,' Ginny added. 'Hermione, I'd keep him around simply because he knows the _best_ places to eat!'

For some reason, Harry wondered if Ginny's enthusiasm was for his benefit. But that was a stupid thought; Ron had told him that Ginny had been extremely excited about absolutely _everything_ since the wedding. And why would she be attempting to show Addison off for _him_? And, on a separate note, why wasn't Hermione saying anything?

Addison wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulders. 'Please don't tell me that's the only reason you keep letting me take you out?' he begged. He bent down and kissed her cheek.

'If you didn't know where to get good desserts …' she said with a wicked grin.

Harry's stomach knotted again impulsively. He didn't understand why he felt that way. They were just so exultant, so ecstatic to be together. Why didn't he just feel happy for them?

_Because you like her_.

Of course he knew that was the answer, but he had never admitted it to himself. Not like that, at least. Once, when he was lying in bed alone, he had thought about an insignificant night at the Weasley house, when he had shuffled into the bathroom and found Hermione wrapped in a towel, combing her hair. It hadn't been awkward; he hadn't felt the need to apologise. He just brushed his teeth next to her. It was so comfortable, so simple. And it had been so unimportant, but now—he couldn't stop thinking about her collarbone, about the freckles that dotted her shoulder blade. And then other times—during meetings, while he was walking to and from work—he would suddenly think of her. He couldn't stop himself. And when they'd go out for drinks with Ron, he couldn't stop himself from studying her mouth, from finding excuses to touch his knee to hers. He couldn't explain it; it was this impulsive thing that he just couldn't stop himself from doing.

'What did you buy?' Hermione asked, pointing at Clare's bag.

Clare squeezed Harry's hand. 'Harry just bought me a lovely set of dress robes,' she said.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. 'Impressive,' she said.

'Nice touch,' added Dean with a grin.

Hermione didn't say anything; Harry _hated _himself for noticing. He mimicked Addison and pulled Clare close to him; then, he realised that he and Hermione were staring at each other the entire time he did it that he hadn't actually looked down at Clare while he kissed her head, and that Hermione knew that he was looking at her. And so he looked away, quickly.

Hermione tugged at the collar of her cloak. Was Harry _trying_ to dangle it in front of her face? Did he know how she felt? Could he possibly be that … cruel?

'We should get going,' she said, looking down at her feet. She looked back up, but Harry was looking at Clare. Of course he was—she was his girlfriend. He _should_ be looking at her. So she looked away again.

'We should, too,' Harry said.

Hermione nodded. 'Okay, then.'

'Okay,' Harry repeated.

They both looked up and locked eyes as their friends hugged and kissed each other goodbye. And then, realising they should be doing the same, they both leaned forward, both angling their heads same way as they attempted to hug. Their lips brushed touched swiftly, and they both jumped apart. But no one had noticed. Addison took Hermione's hand. 'Shall we?' he asked.

Hermione nodded. Her eyes were still fixed on Harry's. 'Yes.'

And then they were gone. And Harry could feel Clare's hand in his, but he could also feel Hermione's lips on his mouth, even though it was only for a moment. Had he dreamed it? Had he imagined that that had happened, something as silly as accidentally kissing his best friend while hugging her goodbye? And—and why hadn't either of them laughed about it? Wouldn't that have made the most sense?

He could still feel it. How was that even _possible_? It had hardly been a kiss. How could something as insignificant as that leave him wanting more?

****

Hermione tried not to cry, she really did. But she couldn't help herself. She brushed the tears away roughly, hoping that Addison wouldn't notice.

'Would you like some tea?' she asked, taking care to make sure he couldn't see her face.

'That'd be lovely,' he said.

She busied herself with making the tea. _Why_ couldn't she stop crying? And how—how had it even happened? She hadn't _meant_ to kiss him; it had just happened. She was just trying to give him a hug, and all of a sudden, her lips were on his. And she—she missed it. And she wanted more. She didn't want to be making tea for Addison. She wanted to be the one with a shopping bag hanging limply in her hand, walking arm-in-arm down the street with Harry. And she hated herself for wanting this, because she loved Addison, really, she did. And she couldn't understand _why_ she felt this way, why she wanted that at all.

And then she sniffed. She hadn't meant to, but she sniffed.

'Are you all right?' Addison asked.

Hermione nodded her head as she pulled out two teacups. 'I'm fine,' she said, but it came out shakily.

Addison grabbed the mugs and set them down on the counter, and then took her face in his hands. He wiped her cheeks gently with his thumbs. 'What's wrong, Hermione?'

Hermione stared up into his eyes. He was so worried about her, and she loved him, truly, but she—she couldn't help feeling the way she did about Harry, and she didn't know _why_ she felt the way she did about Harry, but she knew she shouldn't. And she felt worse, because Addison cared about her, really and truly. He hated to see her cry, and he loved to make her laugh. He loved her. And she loved him—mostly. This thing with Harry was just—she was protective of him, because Ginny had hurt him before. That must be it. Of course it was. She was scared that the same thing was going to happen with Clare. And she hadn't been prepared for Ginny to break his heart, and now, here he was with a girl he doted on more than Ginny, and—and what if something went wrong?

That wasn't it, and she knew it. But she needed to tell herself it was. Because Addison was staring at her, concern written all over his face. He wanted to know why she was crying, and he wanted to fix it. Because he loved her. Because that's what people did when they were in love.

And really, what she felt for Harry wasn't love. She just—she had gotten adjusted to both of them being single. She was jealous. There—that made sense. She had become accustomed to the post-Ginny and Harry relationship that _she _and Harry had shared. Of course.

'Hermione, what's wrong?' Addison asked again.

She sighed and tried to look away, but he forced her to keep looking at him.

'Tell me,' he pleaded gently.

'It's just -' She stopped, and then began sobbing again. Because he cared about her, and he shouldn't. 'You're just—so wonderful, and I don't—I don't deserve this, any of it—I don't -'

Addison ducked his head down and kissed her on the lips. She could taste her tears as they kissed.

He pulled away and stroked her hair. 'Hermione, I—I look at you, and every time, I think, _How could I possibly deserve this_? You are—you are amazing. And I'm—I'm completely in love with everything you do.' He smiled. 'Even when you're crying, you look beautiful.'

Hermione laughed. 'Don't lie; I look like a bloody mess, I'm sure.'

He shook his head. 'No,' he said seriously, and then grinned. 'Well, a beautiful mess. How about that?'

She bit her lip. She really did love him. She did, she did, she did. He was everything she wanted, and needed, and he loved her. She loved him. She loved him.

'I love you,' she said aloud.

He kissed her. 'I love you, too.'

She did. She loved him. She could be happy with Addison. He made her happy, and this could work. She was jealous because she didn't get to spend as much time with Harry as she did when they were both single, and she missed that friendship, but she loved _Addison_. And that was okay, wasn't it?

Hermione kissed Addison again, wrapping her arms around his neck. She didn't understand why she was still crying, but she pushed it out of her head. She needed to stop thinking. She kept kissing him, and she saw the fountain, but she blocked it out of her mind, breathing in Addison, focusing on _this _kiss. He picked her up effortlessly, resting her on the counter. _This_ was what she wanted, because this was the man she was in love with.

He kissed down her neck, and Hermione closed her eyes. She pulled at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it down over his shoulders. And then she raised her arms and he pulled her shirt over her head.

'Bedroom,' she whispered into his mouth.

Addison stopped kissing her and pulled away slightly. Hermione knew why; she hadn't been a _prude_, exactly, but she had set certain boundaries, which Addison had respected faithfully.

'Are you sure?' he whispered, looking into her eyes.

She caught his mouth with hers. She wasn't really sure of anything—of why she was being so forward, of why she was clinging to him so tightly, of what made tonight any different from any other night when they had gone this far—she really didn't know what was going on in her head.

Keeping her eyes on his, Hermione reached back and unhooked her bra. She slid the straps down her arms, then pressed her chest against his, wrapping her legs around his waist. 'Yes,' she whispered back.

He picked her up gently, and pressed their foreheads together. Hermione took a deep breath. 'Yes,' she repeated a little louder, kissing him.

Moving slowly and carefully, Addison carried Hermione down the hallway to her bedroom.

A/N: I'll say it again: ultimately, it will make sense! Did you honestly believe it would be a simple process for these two to get together? Of course not. Complicated, all the way.


	7. That Night at the Wedding, Revisited

**Disclaimer**: J. K. Rowling created the known Harry Potter names. The plot, Rose, Addison and Clare are my invention.

A/N: I know it's taking me quite a while to get this chapter up, and I apologise. But I hope you enjoy it – please read and review! I really appreciate any comments I get back from you.

'You're joking,' said Harry disbelievingly. He and Hermione were both staring, mouths wide open, at Ron, who stood before them with an enormous grin spread across his face.

Ron chuckled and shook his head. 'I'm not,' he said.

'You're getting married,' Hermione repeated.

'To Rose,' Harry clarified.

'I'm getting married to Rose,' Ron confirmed.

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks. 'But -' Hermione began, then cleared her throat and started again. 'When? How?'

'Last night. We were on my couch, and I just -' Ron smiled slightly. 'I was looking at her, and I thought, this is right. I just knew it.' He paused. 'So I asked her. And she said yes.'

Harry tried not to laugh. Ron, who always doubted himself, always questioned everything he did, ever—of _course_ he would suddenly act completely out of character and just ask her to marry him, just like that. He would struggle with the small decisions, like how many pairs of underwear he should buy, but something like asking a girl to marry him—_no problem_.

Studying Ron, Hermione realised she had never seen him this confident, this sure about, well, about anything. She knew she should feel a slight pang of pain, that after two years, Ron hadn't been sure about her. But, Hermione realised, she only felt happy. Happy that he had figured it out.

She stood up and threw her arms around him. 'Congratulations!' she said. And she meant it.

Ron hugged her back, slightly surprised by her reaction. He had been worried she would slap him, or worse.

Hermione released him, and Harry stood up too, grinning. He and Ron hugged. 'Congratulations,' Harry repeated sincerely.

'Thanks.'

'So,' said Harry, releasing Ron. 'When's the wedding? Next week?' he joked.

Ron laughed. 'We haven't figured it out yet,' he said. 'But—maybe next month?'

'Are you serious?' Hermione asked after a moment's pause.

'Why not?' Ron asked, confused.

Hermione and Harry both laughed. He was still the same, somewhat oblivious Ron.

****

'Are you sure I look alright?' Rose asked for the hundredth time.

'You look _beautiful_,' Clare, Ginny, Hermione and Victoria (Rose's closest friend from school) all recited, all attempting to keep the fatigue out of their voice, matching smiles plastered on their faces. Not that they were lying; Rose looked positively gorgeous. It was just that reassuring her every minute or two was getting very, _very_ old.

'Did _I_ sound like this?' Ginny muttered to Hermione.

'Kind of,' Hermione muttered back. 'You talked to yourself more, though. We all kind of figured out that you didn't want us to respond to your mumblings when you snapped at Fleur for answering one of your rhetorical questions.'

It really was amazing how quickly the wedding had come together. Five weeks after Ron proposed to Rose, they were ready to tie the knot. Rose, it had turned out, wanted a simple wedding—just like Ron. So here they were, in Rose's old bedroom at her parents' house; the boys were in Rose's brother's room.

'I think I'm going to be sick,' Rose said (only for the twentieth time).

'Do you want to go to the bathroom?' Victoria asked as she fixed Rose's hair.

Rose shook her head, as she had every other time Victoria asked the question. Then—

'Yes,' Rose said, lurching for the door. Victoria hurried after her.

'Gosh,' said Clare, sitting down on the edge of Rose's old bed. 'I never knew Rose could get like this.'

Ginny smirked. 'I'm sure Ronald is bending over the toilet himself.'

Hermione laughed. 'Absolutely.'

'Not to make this uncomfortable,' said Clare slowly. 'But, I mean—this must be kind of weird for you. Right?'

Hermione shrugged and looked down at her shoes. 'I—I know it _should_ be. But - ' She sighed. It was difficult to explain. 'It's just—Ron and I _were_ good together, for a while. But … it just wouldn't have worked out. He was just—and I was just—it just didn't make sense. We were just too different.'

Clare nodded. 'So it's not awkward?'

Hermione shrugged. 'I mean, kind of. But really, it's not that bad.'

There was a knock on the door. 'Girls?'

It was Harry.

Clare stood up and straightened her hair. She opened the door. 'Hi darling,' she said, leaning forward. Harry kissed her. Hermione looked away. Clare sounded so happy, and it made her feel sick. And she loathed herself for feeling nauseous because her best friend's girlfriend was kissing him. 'Is everything alright?'

'Actually, uh, I need Hermione for something.'

'Oh,' said Clare, surprised. She looked back at Hermione, who stood up.

_Not as awkward as being in love with the guy _you're_ dating right now, _Hermione thought guiltily. 'What's wrong?' she asked.

'Just—just come with me,' said Harry. 'I'll bring her back soon,' he promised.

Hermione walked past Clare, shutting the door behind her.

'What is it?' she asked Harry as she followed him down the stairs.

'It's—Ron,' he said quietly. 'He just—was getting sentimental, I suppose.'

'About what?' Hermione asked, puzzled.

'About, you know, our friendship,' Harry said. 'About him getting married being—he said something about it being the end of an era, or something like that.'

Hermione couldn't help but smile. 'Does he think that we're just going to abandon him now that he's getting married?'

Harry chuckled. 'Apparently.' He stopped at a door. 'He's in here.'

'Harry, he's in the _bathroom_?' Harry nodded and knocked on the door. 'But there's—it's a small bathroom! Why couldn't you have taken him -'

The door opened and suddenly Hermione was staggering under Ron's weight. 'Ronald,' she choked. 'Careful with the hair; it took Victoria _forever_ to get it straight like the other girls, and I'll strangle you if it gets messed up.'

Harry shepherded them into the bathroom and shut the door. Hermione helped Ron gently to the toilet, sitting him down on the lid. She kneeled down in front of him, while Harry remained standing.

None of them said anything for a few moments. And then Ron asked, 'What if she decides that I can't spend time with you two any more? What do I do?'

Harry laughed. 'Ron, she's not crazy.'

'Not _yet_,' Ron corrected. 'Or—or what if she doesn't verbally, you know, admit that it bothers her that I spend time with you, but I realise it, and I start putting her before you? And then you two hate me, and—and I lose my two best friends. What if that happens?'

Hermione couldn't help but smile. 'We're not going to _let_ that happen,' she said. 'Any sign of you abandonment, and we'll stage an intervention.'

'We're not just going to roll over, you know,' Harry continued with a grin. 'As if Hermione and I would let some girl take our place. Not that Rose is just some girl,' he added quickly. 'She's great, truly. But if she tries … we'll make it clear that we're not going anywhere. All right?'

'You can't get rid of us, Ron,' said Hermione with a smile.

Ron took her hand and squeezed it. 'Hermione, I'm—I'm so sorry about, you know -'

'Oh stop, Ron,' Hermione said, squeezing his hand back. 'Come on.'

'No, I'm serious.' Ron cleared his throat. 'I'm sorry I wasn't, you know, clean enough, and—and all of that.' He looked down at his dress shoes. 'I _did_ want it to work though.'

Hermione touched his cheek. 'I know. But we're better off this way, don't you think?'

Ron smiled. 'Yeah,' he said softly. He looked at Harry. 'Sorry, mate.'

'For what?' Harry asked.

'For, you know, making you put up with—well, everything.'

'What, with you being sentimental on your wedding day? Not at all.' Harry grinned again. 'Wait until the rest of your family hears about _this_.'

Ron groaned. '_Please_ don't tell them. I'd never hear the end of it.'

'Ronald Weasley, secretly a maudlin individual,' teased Hermione, and she stood up. 'Come on. Up you get.'

Ron lifted himself slowly, and then both of his arms went around Harry and Hermione, pulling them towards his tall frame. 'Ronald, you're going to choke us,' Hermione said, her voice muffled by his robes. But she and Harry hugged him back, and the three of them stood there silently for a few moments, leaning against each other and holding on tightly.

Ron finally released them from his vicelike grip, and Harry and Hermione pulled away. Hermione wiped her eyes. 'If my makeup is messed up, I'll hex you,' she warned. She studied her reflection in the mirror.

'You look great,' Harry said suddenly.

Hermione glanced over, confused. 'Oh. Thanks.'

'I just mean, you know, you didn't mess up your makeup. So it looks fine,' he added quickly. _Why_ had he said that?

Hermione turned to Ron. 'You're going to need to fix your hair,' she said.

Ron stared at the mirror in horror. His hair was standing on its ends; he had been pulling his hands through it distractedly for the past half hour.

'Here,' said Hermione, taking out her wand. She muttered a simple charm under her breath, tapping Ron's head lightly. His hair smoothed back suddenly. Ron glanced at himself in the mirror again.

'I knew you were worth it to keep around,' he joked.

Hermione tucked her wand back into her robes. 'So why should I keep _you_ around?'

Ron smiled. 'Do you guys mind? I just need a minute.'

Hermione nodded, and she and Harry went out into the hallway. Harry sat down on the stairs, and Hermione leaned against the wall opposite the bathroom. Neither of them said anything; they had both realised—guiltily—that they had hardly spoken since Ron and Rose got engaged. A few conversations here and there, as they helped Ron with the few decisions Rose wanted him to make for the wedding. But other than that they had been, well, avoiding each other. And even before that—well, they still went out for drinks with Ron, and saw each other occasionally at the Weasley house. But they hadn't spent any time together, just the two of them, in ages. And even when they were with Ron, they hardly spoke _to _each other.

Not that they could ever acknowledge the justification behind it, of course. Neither of them was willing to bring up that accidental, almost-kiss (it had now been almost four months), and neither was willing to admit to the fact that they couldn't _stop_ thinking about it. About each other.

'So,' said Harry slowly. 'H-how have you been?'

'I've been well,' said Hermione. 'Busy,' she added vaguely. A lie. There was hardly anything exciting happening in her department.

'Me too,' said Harry. Also a lie.

'How are things with Clare?' Hermione asked after another uncomfortable pause. 'You seem -' She hesitated, and then forced herself to say it. 'Happy.'

She looked over at Harry, who nodded slowly. 'Yes,' he said, because he didn't think he could bring himself to say a full sentence about it. It wasn't that they were entirely unhappy, but he just—couldn't seem to say anything about it. Not to Hermione. Not when he knew that, while Clare was lying next to him, fast asleep, his mind was constantly on Hermione.

But it wasn't just that, either. Conversations with Clare had been getting progressively less interesting. After that first night, Clare had refused to talk about her sister's death, and had changed the subject any time Harry brought up his parents: the one thing they had in common was the one thing Harry couldn't talk to her about. He didn't blame her, really; their situations _were_ quite different, and he understood why it was hard for her to be open about it. But she didn't really have anything else to say, either; it wasn't just his parents' death, Harry had discovered, but practically any topic besides sports (and work, which revolved around, well, sports) was guaranteed to become one-sided, as Clare usually didn't have a clue what Harry was talking about. And so their discussions over dinner had fallen into the 'How was your day?' 'Fine and yours?' pattern.

'And—and you and Addison?' Harry asked. 'He's not offended that he's not in the wedding party, is he?'

Hermione laughed. 'Of course not,' she said. 'And we're—we're great,' she said, trying not to wince. They _were_ great—whatever that meant. Well, kind of. They were doing fine, but 'great' was an exaggeration. But whenever Hermione had a moment to herself, she thought about Harry, not Addison. Of course, she would have preferred to have Addison on her mind all the time, but she couldn't help it; try as she might, she simply could not block images of Harry out.

Truthfully, Addison's personality fluctuations drove Hermione crazy. He was alternately the most relaxed person Hermione had ever met, the most obsessively fussy, the most bossy, the most … well, it felt like he was constantly changing his mood. Things he didn't care about one day were suddenly a huge issue the next. And there was no pattern to it; he would jump from Personality A to Personality D to Personality G back to Personality C.

'Good,' said Harry.

'Good,' repeated Hermione, snapping out of her reverie.

The bathroom door opened just then, and a much more confident Ron walked out. Harry stood up.

'Right,' said Ron. 'Let's get going.'

****

Harry and Clare revolved slowly on the spot. Neither of them had said anything to each other for the past four songs. Ginny and Dean had danced by them, laughing and chatting away happily, and Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Not of Dean for being with Ginny, but of Dean for being with a girl he could _talk _to, someone with whom he hadn't run out of conversation material in the first couple of months.

'What did you think of the salmon?' Clare's voice said in his ear. 'I thought it was a bit strange, really, that they hadn't noticed it was cold when they were serving it. I mean, I'm not sure how they could have gotten that wrong, And it's so easily fixed with a simple charm -'

'It was poached salmon,' said Harry dully. 'It's _supposed_ to be cold.'

'Oh,' breathed Clare. 'I—I didn't realise.'

Harry didn't respond. He knew he shouldn't have said it so condescendingly, but he couldn't help himself. And he knew he should have apologised for being rude, but he couldn't be bothered to. And he knew he should be worried about the fact that he wasn't bothered by his own rudeness towards his girlfriend, but he just didn't care at this point.

'So,' Clare continued. 'What did you think of it, though? I mean, do you like it cold?'

'I don't know,' said Harry wearily.

Clare stopped moving, and Harry looked at her.

'Harry, are you all right?'

He nodded, shook his head, and nodded again.

'What is it?'

Harry shrugged childishly. He looked over and saw Hermione cupping Addison's face in her hands.

'Tell me,' Clare pressed, staring at him with her enormous blue eyes. 'What's wrong?'

Harry studied Clare's face. She was beautiful, really. And she was entertaining, occasionally. And she had soft skin, and he had briefly loved holding her every night because she was so warm. He looked away for a moment; Hermione was leaning forward and kissing Addison full on the lips, and Harry had to look away, look back to Clare instead. He could kiss her now. Tell her everything was fine, and that he was just tired. Go home with her, wrap his arms around her, fall asleep. Wake up the next morning with her. _Be _with her, even if they hardly ever spoke. She was warm, and she loved him, and that was nice to know. But—but it just wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Not really. The realisation came to him quite suddenly. And he felt stupid, coming to this conclusion _now_, on his best friend's wedding day, not only for choosing _today_ of all days, but for not reaching it much, _much_ sooner.

'Harry?' Clare touched his cheek. 'Please, just tell me what's wrong. Tell me what I can do.'

He didn't want to do this here.

'It's nothing,' he managed to force out, but he couldn't smile reassuringly.

'It's _not_,' Clare insisted. 'You've been -' She stopped. 'You hardly say anything to me anymore. You barely _look_ at me anymore. And I thought it might be work, but it can't be. Tell me the truth. _What is wrong with you_?'

Harry's throat constricted, which surprised him. He didn't want to hurt her. But how could he lie to her?

And suddenly, comprehension seemed to dawn on Clare. Harry didn't know how she could have figured it out, but her face was slackening, and he knew that she knew. Her hand was still on his cheek, and she lowered it slowly.

'I'm sorry, Clare, I -' he began, but she silenced him.

'I can't _believe_ you're doing this to me,' she whispered. Her huge eyes filled with tears.

'I don't -' Harry started again, but this time he stopped himself. What could he say? There _wasn't_ anything to say.

'So that's it then, is it?' Clare said coldly. 'We're just—just done? You just—you've just stopped being in love with me?'

Harry looked down at his feet. 'I don't know,' he said dumbly.

'You're pathetic,' she said. 'Do you know that?'

'I—I'm sorry,' he said.

When he looked up just a moment later, Clare was running away from him through the crowd toward the house, her long hair flying behind her. A few people looked from Clare's retreating figure back to Harry, but most people didn't notice. Harry tucked his hands into his pockets and slowly walked away from the well-lit patio and into the darkness.

****

Hermione's eyes were fixed on the dance floor, the top half of her body faced away from Addison. She couldn't stop her gaze from being drawn to Harry and Clare every few seconds. Each time, her stomach lurched unpleasantly.

She felt Addison's warm fingers on her shoulder. 'Are you all right?' he asked softly.

'Fine,' she said irritably. He had already asked her several times.

She knew, of course, that she certainly wasn't _acting_ fine, and she realised guiltily that she should be more appreciative of how sensitive he was to the changes in her attitude.

But how could she explain it to him? You're mostly wonderful, although I could do without your mood swings; but anyway, I'm not entirely sure this is going to work, because I've realised I'm actually in love with my best friend, is that all right with you?

'You've just seemed really, you know, distant the whole time,' continued Addison gently. 'I just—wasn't sure if I had done anything.' He hesitated. 'Or if it had anything to do with, you know -' He stopped.

Hermione turned back to face him. 'With what?' she asked. Addison didn't say anything, but looked down at his hands instead. 'With what?' she repeated.

'With—with this being, you know.' Addison cleared his throat. 'This being _Ron's_ wedding,' he said quietly.

Guilt surged through Hermione all over again, the sickening understanding that her coldness would seem to indicate that she was upset about losing Ron, when in reality what had been on her mind all day was the fact that someday, she and Ron would be helping _Harry_ plan his wedding, to Clare, or to some other equally beautiful, equally sweet, equally _perfect_ girl. That one day, Harry would promise to spend the rest of his life with someone else and that she, Hermione, Harry's best friend, his almost-sister, would never get the chance to tell him how that first kiss had changed everything, how she just couldn't seem to stop _thinking_ bout him whenever she had a moment to breathe. It was true, she felt a few pangs of jealousy with Ron and Rose, but those were minor compared to the pain she felt every time her eyes flickered towards Harry's hands placed securely on Clare's waist.

She felt tears on her face now, and she wasn't sure when and how they got there. And then she saw Addison's face and realised that she hadn't said anything yet.

She took Addison's face in her hands.

'Whatever feelings I had for Ron are gone,' she whispered. 'I promise.'

It was the truth. Not the whole truth, but it was the part she could tell.

Addison nodded, and bit his lip. 'I just -' He paused again, and then chuckled a little. 'I was just so worried that you were going to admit that you were still in love with him, that you couldn't be with me because of it.' He stared straight into Hermione's eyes. 'I love you, Hermione.'

She sucked in her breath instinctively. She forced herself to keep her eyes on him. She loved him, too. Didn't she? He didn't make her heart flutter the way Harry did, but he was dependable, reliable. He understood her. And besides, she knew, deep down, that nothing would ever happen with Harry. Of course it wouldn't. They would go back to normal again, once she had mastered her feelings for him, pulled herself back together. She _could_ look at him the way she had briefly, at the beginning; she knew she could. And she could give herself to Addison, if she tried hard enough. He loved her, and she wanted to love him.

'I love you, too,' she said, leaning in and kissing him.

This kiss felt different to her, at least she hoped it did. But she couldn't understand why she was still crying, why tears still poured down her cheeks. But it didn't matter. Addison loved her, she was just trying to get over all of this, and she loved Addison, she did, she did, _she did_.

When they finally broke apart, Addison wiped her cheeks. Hermione looked into his eyes again, and she realised that she just—just couldn't do it. That brief burst of confidence was gone. How could she possible believe that she could force herself to stop loving Harry?

'I need to get some fresh air,' she said abruptly.

'Do you want me to -'

'No,' said Hermione. 'I want to be alone.' And she hurried away before Addison could protest, tears still stinging her face as she blindly stumbled off the patio and into the darkness.

Rose's family had a large amount of land, but Hermione couldn't seem to get away from the music, from the laughter floating from the patio. She took off her shoes and began to run, hardly caring where she wound up. Her hair fell out but she didn't notice.

She slowed to a stop at what looked like a Muggle gazebo, surrounded by various magical plants. When she looked back, the patio was nothing more than a light glowing faintly in the distance.

She walked into the gazebo and gripped one of the columns tightly, resting her face against it as she caught her breath. The gazebo overlooked a garden with a small fountain at its centre, light glowing up from underneath the statue of Cupid. Water flew from his arrow tip into the surrounding pool.

'Hermione?'

She whirled around. Harry was standing on the other side of the fountain; she hadn't seen him.

'H-Harry. What—what are you doing out here?'

He sighed and rubbed his head. 'I, er, well -' he stopped. 'Clare and I are, you know, done. Broken up.'

'_What_?' Hermione clutched the column tighter.

'Yeah,' Harry said, hardly believing it himself. 'At least, I think we are.' He looked down at his feet. 'It wasn't exactly an orthodox breakup, if you know what I mean.' He walked around the fountain slowly and clambered over and into the gazebo.

Hermione didn't know what to say, and then she remembered what she _should_ be saying. 'Are you all right?' she asked.

He nodded. With relief, he realised that he meant it. He felt guilty, yes, but he knew he had made the right decision, that this was better than staying with Clare longer, pretending that he still loved her when he didn't. 'I'm fine,' he said aloud. 'Really. I'll be OK.'

'I'm so sorry,' Hermione said.

Harry looked away from her, back out into the fountain. And then he looked back, and he thought he saw it. She was looking at him the way he wanted her to. This wasn't just sympathy—there as something else there.

'I'm not,' he said, keeping his eyes on her.

She looked surprised, and nervous. 'W-what do you mean, Harry? Did you … I mean, I thought you said you and Clare were—were happy, that things were going well, and that -'

'I don't love her,' he interrupted. 'I—I don't think I ever did. I cared about her, but I don't think that I loved her. Not really.'

Hermione looked away. 'I don't understand,' she said.

Harry didn't know what to say, and there was silence for a few minutes. Hermione looked back at him. 'Harry?' She tucked her hair behind her ear nervously.

It was this small motion that gave him the courage to say it. She looked so completely beautiful, so vulnerable, and—and he just couldn't hold it back any longer.

'I can't stop thinking about you,' he said.

Hermione closed her eyes. It was what she had wanted to hear, wasn't it? But—but. She couldn't be in love with her best friend, could never admit that she, too, couldn't seem to get him off her mind. 'Don't say that,' said Hermione pleadingly. 'Please—it just makes this all so—so difficult -'

'How is it difficult? I can't stop thinking about you,' Harry repeated.

'We can't, Harry, it's not that simple—please, you must understand -'

'Hermione, I'm—I'm constantly wondering what you're doing, and I get these urges to just—just hold you, and—and every time, _every single time_ I get a moment to myself, I'm thinking about you. I just can't help it. And you can't pretend that you don't feel it, too.' Hermione didn't say anything. 'D-don't you?' Harry asked, slightly uncertain.

Hermione covered her face with his hands. 'I'm—I don't know,' she moaned softly. _Yes_, she wanted to say. But how could she explain it to Addison? What would happen? And when Clare found out … and Ginny … and _Ron_. How could they ever explain it to Ron?

'Hermione?'

She lowered her hands. Harry was watching her, his cheeks flushed. 'Don't you?' he repeated.

'Oh—oh yes,' she burst out. 'But Harry, we can't, we just _can't_, you have to see -'

He grabbed her and pulled her towards him and her lips were on his and she was crying again, but _this_ kiss tasted right, even with her tears. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, and she was shaking underneath his hands. But just as he pulled her closer, she broke away.

'I can't,' she sobbed into her hands. '_We_ can't. It's just -'

He tried to hold her, but she pulled away. She didn't know what she was doing. This was what she had wanted all along, wasn't it? But could she actually do this to Addison?

'Why can't we?' Harry asked softly.

'I'm—it's just—how do we explain—and Harry, it's not—this doesn't -' She couldn't even get a full sentence out, because she knew she didn't really have any legitimate reasoning. But she was so, so scared that things would go horribly wrong, now that she finally had what she wanted, what she hadn't known she ever _would_ want.

'So what do we do?' Harry asked. 'Is that really it, then? You just want to pretend this didn't happen, either?'

'No,' said Hermione quickly. 'No, that's not what I want -'

'You pulled away -'

'Harry, I'm _scared_. You have to understand that!'

'What are you afraid of?'

'I—I don't know. Just—I don't understand how this happened,' she said, rubbing her forehead. 'I mean, I never—never would have thought -' She looked up at him. 'You were happy with Clare.'

Harry sighed. 'Not really. I—I didn't want to be with her in the first place.'

Her eyes widened. 'What do you mean?'

He sat down . 'I want to be with you. I can't—I just couldn't handle being with Clare because I knew it was you, all along. It's always been you. I just—after the wedding, you didn't say anything, and I thought that you didn't—that you just wanted to forget it -'

'How could I forget it?' she burst out. 'I couldn't _stop_ thinking about it, and I didn't understand why _you_ weren't saying anything about it; you just acted like nothing was wrong. And then you told me you wanted to go on a date with Clare, and -'

'I—I told you that because I wanted to see how you'd react,' Harry admitted. 'And it just … I don't know. It seemed like you didn't care at all.'

'I did,' Hermione said softly. She sighed heavily. 'What a mess.'

Neither of them said anything for a few moments.

'So what do we do?' Hermione asked.

'I don't know,' said Harry. 'I know what _I _want; you're the one who pulled away.'

And Hermione knew what she wanted, too. She threw herself into Harry's arms, burying her face in his chest. He held her close, and they breathed together.

'I have to tell Addison,' she said softly.

He nodded into her hair. 'And we'll need to tell Ron.'

'And Ginny.'

Harry laughed. 'And everybody we know, really.'

Hermione smiled into Harry's dress robes. For the first time in ages, she felt like she could finally breathe again.

ONE YEAR LATER …

Harry was going to be sick.

'Are you sure you're ready?' Ron asked.

Harry nodded nervously.

'Positive?'

'Ron, stop. You're making him even _more_ nervous,' said Rose. 'You'll be fine,' she promised Harry.

Harry nodded again, and swallowed. 'What if—what if she says no?'

Ron laughed. 'You're joking, right? Have you _seen_ her looking at you?'

'What do you mean?' asked Harry, slightly confused.

Rose smiled and said, 'What he means, Harry, is that any girl who looks at a boy like that would _never_ say no.'

'How can you be sure?' Harry countered.

'Trust me,' said Ron. 'I know.' He grinned at Harry. 'Good luck, mate.'

'And let us know how it goes,' Rose added.

Harry took a deep breath and Apparated.

****

Hermione was running late again. Wrapped in a towel, she hurried to her room and pulled on a dressing robe. She treaded back to the bathroom and began to pull a comb through her hair. The doorbell rang just as she directed her wand to her hair to dry it.

She stopped what she was doing immediately and hurried out into the hallway and opened the door, throwing herself into the man's arms with a squeal of delight and wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. Harry laughed. 'It's raining outside and I'm soaked; I'm going to get you all wet!'

'I don't care,' she pronounced, kissing his neck and face over and over again. He walked into the apartment, carefully shutting the door behind him. He kissed Hermione on the lips, and then set her feet on the ground again. He studied her. 'You're not ready,' he said. But she looked beautiful, so beautiful. And suddenly Harry wasn't nervous at all. Not one bit. This was right, he knew it was. It was worth getting punched in the nose by Addison at Ron's wedding, after Hermione had mustered the courage to tell him the truth. It was worth enduring hour upon hour of Ron's teasing—'I _knew_ it would be like this in the end!' And it was so completely worth the wait.

She blushed. 'I know, I'm sorry! I'll be finished soon, though. I don't usually like using magic to get ready, but …' She grinned. 'I'll make an exception tonight.' She leaned forward and kissed him swiftly on the lips. 'I'll just be a few minutes,' she promised before turning away.

Harry reached out to grab her hand. 'Wait,' he said.

'I'll just be a minute, I promise!' she said.

'No, Hermione -'

'Where did you want to go for dinner?' she continued, turning again and walking back down the hallway.

'Hermione, will you marry me?' Harry blurted out at her retreating back. He just couldn't stop himself. He knew if he waited any longer, he wouldn't be able to stay it.

Hermione stopped walking. 'What did you say?' she asked.

Harry realised that he was still standing, and he got down on one knee and pulled out the box that had been in his cloak for almost two weeks, the box he had opened and shut countless times. He opened it once more, but this time, it wasn't to stare at it broodingly, wondering if he should return it once and for all.

Hermione turned back to Harry when he didn't answer, and saw him kneeling in the hallway, beads of rain dropping from his hair to the floor, his cheeks flushed.

'Will you marry me?' he repeated.

Hermione's hand went to her mouth. And then she realised he was waiting for an answer, and without hesitation she said it, forming her mouth carefully around the word.

'_Yes_.'

A/N: Well, that's the end of this one! I admit, I had started writing a much more complicated continuation, but I preferred this ending. Nevertheless, I may ultimately post that second ending and you can let me know what you think! I hope you enjoyed this story. I know it wasn't particularly complicated, but I had a great time writing it. Thanks again for your reviews!


End file.
